


Hardware Insecurity

by TheOvenGlove



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Author is tired and will tag this properly later, Depression, F/M, Had to get this out of my head and into yours, Hank Anderson Deserves Happiness, Jealousy, Not Beta Read, Protective Hank Anderson, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, We Die Like Men, Worried Hank Anderson, implied infidelity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22845568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOvenGlove/pseuds/TheOvenGlove
Summary: Circumstantial evidence and self hatred cause Hank to think you're cheating on him. He's not sure how to handle himself, and though Connor tries to help, this is something Hank needs to figure out on his own.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Original Female Character(s), Hank Anderson/Reader, Hank Anderson/you
Comments: 1
Kudos: 49





	1. Don't Set Fire to Your Own House

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where this is going, but I had to get it out of my head before it slipped away into all my other DBH fantasies. Let me know if there is any interest in continuing this. 
> 
> And like I said there is only a vague direction for this story, I have no clue where it's going. So if you guys have any ideas of something you might like to see, just let me know. I'll be happy to give you full credit.

You didn't have many friends outside the department. Literally everyone you knew well enough to have given your number to had either been an old buddy from the service, or worked at the DPD. You'd worked for the DPD for just over three years. Not entirely by your own choice, but more so a work of fate that you couldn't have been happier about.

Your work for the military had been less than savory, but you were damn good at it. You must have had some kind of sociopathic tendencies tucked away in your psych profile to have even qualified for a job where you tortured and killed people for your country. You supposed there was probably some android model something-or-other that could do your job better, but for now it was safe thanks to the technophobia that ran rampant among older generations making them want a human finger on the trigger. Regardless, shit had gone sideways on your last mission, and you'd gotten hurt. Badly. Your heart literally stopped beating _twice_. But, the medics managed to keep you alive. Horrifically scarred both mentally and physically, but you were alive. There was a spider web of faded scar tissue across your stomach starting on your lower left side that creeped up and across your ribcage up to just under your breasts. Your left arm from the elbow down was a cyberlife cybernetic implant gifted to you through the corporation's involvement in the Veterans Hospital. You hadn't been the first to get an implant, but you were the first to receive their newest prototype. You'd been reliably informed by the physical therapist who trained you with it that Elijah Kamski himself had been involved in the design aspect.

It'd taken you almost a year before you had been well enough to leave the hospital and another six months of heavy rehab to get yourself back into fighting shape. And while you'd been looking forward to your retirement one day, vet benefits were for shit, and you'd needed a job to keep food in the fridge and your medical bills paid. Hence your application to the DPD. You'd been traveling the world so long with work, you didn't really have a 'Home' to go back to. So you'd picked a random major US city, and the DPD had won out. Apparently your military background made you somewhat overqualified for the job, but the fact that you'd never done any actual police work in your life still counted against you, and so you'd been assigned to Detective Reed at first. That lasted all of three weeks before you went to Captain Fowler and threatened to shove your rifle up his ass and pull the trigger if he didn't assign you to another partner. He'd been less than pleased with the attempt at intimidation, and after a good dressing down, had tried to punish you by sticking you with Hank. His plan backfired spectacularly. Because while you had your disagreements, you were a pretty damn good team. You had the ambition and the instincts to go after some truly horrific monsters, and he had the good sense and the experience to keep you both from getting killed doing it. And while you still couldn't get Hank to show up before noon, it had still been the most productive time of his career since the accident.

You'd decided you liked the grumpy old drunk not long after being paired with him at work. 

You decided you _loved_ him not long after the android revolution. 

Something about Connor and the uprising had changed Hank, saved him really, in a way you hadn't been able to. And for that you welcomed the deviated android with open arms into your slowly growing family. Having nowhere to live outside the android storage at the DPD, Hank had quickly offered to let Connor move in. Somehow in the discussion, you had managed to bully the much older man into letting you stay, too. You'd spent the night there more than once, after a night out drinking with him, and he only had to offer to sleep on the sofa once. Even through the haze of alcohol he'd remembered perfectly you giggling lightly as you flopped gracelessly across the sheets of his bed and asked, "Why? How much of a slavering beast are you, Hank?" The whisky made it far funnier than it should have been, and he had to lean over and brace himself against the mattress as he laughed. Drunk or not you were still lightning fast compared to him, and you'd lashed out while he got control of his laughter, grabbing at the open edge of his jacket and pulling him down. Fortunately he was able to shift his weight so that he landed mostly parallel to you. "Just kick your damn shoes off and go to sleep." You grumbled without opening your eyes as he shifted a bit to get comfortable and do just that. "...and if you absolutely have to molest me, just try not to wake me up." He managed to snort into the pillow in laughter before the alcohol had carried you both off to sleep. 

When you'd confessed your feelings to him it had actually started a fight. First he tried the 'You don't know what you're saying.' defense. Then there was the 'I'm too old for you.' and the 'You deserve so much better.' excuses. You had managed to convince him after a full week of on and off arguments. He had escaped to the sofa to sleep that very first night, and you were more than happy to let the idiot punish himself for his own stubbornness. But after seven days and nights of alternating between screaming arguments and tense silences, Connor had gotten fed up with it all and locked you both in the bedroom, refusing to let you out until you worked out your differences. Hank had been fully prepared to bust down the door when you mentioned that it was probably a good idea. That had started a whole _other_ fight about taking sides, and Connor, and how Connor was so much better for you. Finally, there had been a breakthrough in the early hours of the morning, and when the sun finally began to light the room, Connor had opened the door to see you curled around the Lieutenant, both of you fast asleep.

Which was exactly what you had been doing tonight, right before your _fucking_ phone went off in the middle of the night. 

Your phone. Not Hanks. Not Connors uplink.

Odd, because the only people trying to call you at this time of night should have been from the DPD, and everyone there knew that calling Connor was the most efficient way of getting you all to come in for a case.

Thankfully, it hadn't been loud enough to wake Hank. But you knew that it must have been important and you wanted to let him sleep, so you quietly shifted, swung your legs out of bed and sat up, feeling Hanks hand limply slide over the curve of your hip and land on the mattress. You rubbed gently at your eyes with a huff before grabbing your phone from the nightstand.

As you stood, you didn't notice Hank had woken the moment you had shifted out from under the arm he had draped over your waist. He watched as you activated your phone just before closing the bedroom door behind you, wondering at who was trying to contact you at this hour.

In order to keep from disturbing Connor from where he was watching some old movie on the living room tv (and to get a bit of privacy from the well meaning but nosy android) you decided to return the missed call from the bathroom. 

You shut the door behind you with a soft click, and though you didn't notice, that made Connor narrow his eyes in confusion as he made a mental note to ask you about it when you came back out.

Perhaps it was a side effect of being in the army and not always being able to get some privacy when in the field, but Hank was forever riding your 'bathroom boundary issues' and the fact that whenever you were home, you didn't bother closing the door when you used the toilet. You made the point that no one else was in the house but him and Connor, you two were fucking, and Connor literally couldn't have cared less. Hank's point had been "Just close the fucking door 'ya goddamn savage! It's _my fucking house_ , I don't have to justify _shit_ to you!" You just laughed and kept doing it seeing as it wasn't hurting anyone, and antagonizing Hank about little shit was fun.

You took just enough time to relieve yourself and wash your hands before hitting the call button for the only missed call on your phone. The fact that it was a number not already in your contact list made you a little nervous, but you didn't want to jump to conclusions until you had evidence. Apparently Connor was rubbing off on you a little bit. You smiled at that as the phone continued to ring. Just before you were about to be shuffled off to someone's voicemail, they picked up. 

The voice in your ear was one you hadn't heard in almost a decade. You had been the best of friends since you were in highschool together, even dated with plans to get married at one point. A truly massive fight about your future careers and starting a family had broken you up, and you'd left him. He hadn't tried to contact you since then, and though you were heartbroken at first, you had damn near forgotten he existed until you heard his voice again. 

Apparently he was drunk and stranded in a bar on the other side of the city, and you were the only person he knew lived anywhere close. You just groaned and rubbed a hand over your face wondering what you would do. You were also wondering how he'd gotten your new number, but that was a question for another day. You really wanted to help the poor idot, but there was no way you could just bring a random stranger to crash on Hank's sofa without even asking him first. So you crept back into the bedroom just long enough to grab a pair of clothes from the closet, changing in the bathroom so as to keep from waking Hank. What you didn't know was that he still hadn't fallen back to sleep yet. And while he was curious as to where the hell you thought you were going in the middle of the night, the detective in him stayed silent as you went about your business in the dark, the door clicking shut softly behind you.

You turned to grab your purse, badge, and keys, using your phone to order a taxi with your free hand, and as you spun back to continue out the door, you barely managed to keep from screaming bloody murder. " _Connor._ " You made his name sound like a curse, "Stop fucking doing that." You hissed.

The well meaning android was effectively blocking you from leaving by standing between you and the door. "Detective?" He asked softly, "Where are you going? I haven't received any notifications about a case. Were you contacted instead?" 

"No, Con." You sighed as you stepped around him, Connor turning in place to continue watching your form as you proceeded to the front door to meet the taxi that had just arrived. "I'm just... going out for a little bit. I shouldn't be gone long." You reasoned as you unlocked and opened the door, "And hey, don't tell Hank, okay? You know how he worries. I'll be back before he gets up for work."

But you were wrong, and Hank was watching through the blinds from where he'd sat up in bed once he'd heard the front door close. He'd seen that taxi driving off in the middle of the night, without a word to him. Why were you sneaking around? And who did you call? He couldn't hear what you were saying from in the bathroom, but he could hear your voice. Hank scrubbed his hands over his face and scratched at his beard for a moment as he thought about the most obvious possibilities. Anyone from the department that would have called your phone would have also called his, or sent Connor a message. But seeing as his own phone was still showing no missed calls, and Connor hadn't woken them both by hammering on the bedroom door, that eliminated every person he could think of that you both knew. So it must have been one of your service friends. He had heard several stories about various names and escapades, but he'd never actually met any of them, and the fact that you were very likely running off to meet someone he didn't know in the middle of the night without saying anything had left a bad taste in his mouth. Yeah, he knew you were a big girl and all. Hell, you were the only one in the department other than Connor that could take on Nines in hand-to-hand for more than a few minutes, and he respected you deeply for that. But he was a police detective at heart, and that heart was telling him to chase after you and bring you back home where it was safe and he could protect you. The much more rational part of him was the part that decided to let you go.

He flopped back into the bed with a groan, idly wondering at the fact that he let himself get so wound up in his feelings like a goddamned teenager with his first crush. 'She's sneaking out to cheat on me.' Should not have been the first thing that came to his mind. But his own lack of self worth had planted that idea in his subconscious long ago. There could have been a million other reasons, non of which you needed to justify to him, and as an adult he had to respect that, no matter how much his paranoia and depression told him otherwise. The older man rolled over onto his left side and pulled the blankets back up over his shoulders. It was almost an involuntary reaction for him to reach out under the covers, his right hand sliding across sheets that were already cool in search of someone he knew wasn't there. Hank cursed his own weakness as he reached a large hand up, shifting her pillow around until he could pull it against his chest. He dipped his head, fully aware of how goddamned pathetic he was being as he buried his face in her pillow and inhaled deeply. Hopefully having her smell and something to hold would help him to relax a bit so he could get a few more hours of sleep in before work.  
_'And, hell...'_ That dark shadow in the back of his mind whispered to him, _'Even if she is stepping out on you, at least she's finally getting satisfaction from somewhere instead of faking it for your sake.'_ He tried to silence it, but that never worked without a bottle in his hand. _'Pull your head outta your ass, old man. It's a miracle you managed to keep her attention this long.'_ It hissed, _'She was always going to leave you for someone more like herself anyway. Someone younger than you, stronger, more ruthless.'_ The sudden image of you sweating, naked, and writhing against the much more stoic form of Nines sprung, unbidden, into his mind and suddenly he couldn't take it anymore. "Fuck. This." He muttered to himself as he pushed away your pillows ( _his_ pillows, goddammit) and flung the sheets back. The older man grunted as he sat up, lurched forward, and stood, angling his body towards the door. There was a half empty bottle of Black Lamb waiting for him in the kitchen cabinet, and he intended to finish it before the sun came up.


	2. Don't Be Surprised When it Burns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally return from your nighttime errand, only to find a huge mess in Hank's kitchen. Unfortunately, it's Hank.

Not long after you stepped out of the taxi, and into the dingy dive bar, you found your ex, Dean, slumped over the counter. Surprising considering how crowded the place was. It was a pathetic sight, the poor bastard was smoking again, and had obviously been crying from the tear tracks running down his cheeks. When you had came up beside him, he'd thrown his arms out in greeting, not realizing how close you were standing, and managed to hit you right in the neck with his lit cigarette. You yelped and held your hand to your throat, but his inebriated mind had been more concerned with his nicotine fix as he watched it hit the floor, "That was my las' one." He slurred.

You just sighed and checked with the bartender to make sure his bill was paid. When you were certain you could leave with him, you pulled the much larger man's arm over your shoulders and tried to get him to walk with you back to the taxi that was still waiting out front. You were more carrying him than anything, and it took quite a bit of effort to get him to sit upright in the taxi seat. Finally managing to get yourself situated as well, you sighed as he immediately slumped over the bench seat and landed with his head in your lap, out cold. You frowned deeply, but let him sleep as you found flipped through several options on your phone for the closest, cheapest, hotels. Fortunately there was a no-tell motel just a few streets away. You typed the address into the taxi app, and your ride took off. It only took a few minutes to get there, but getting Dean back out of the cab was just as fun as getting him into it, and took much longer than it should have. It was only upon getting to the counter you realized that you didn't have any cash on you. You wanted to bang your head off the cheap laminate counter, but decided against it. You were forced to put the room on your expense account, just praying that Captain Fowler wouldn't look too hard at the eighty dollar fee. The man behind the counter just shook his head as you picked the young blond man up under his shoulders, and you distinctly heard him mutter "Damn kids...", as the two of you stumbled out of the office and across the parking lot.

Thankful that the room was on the first floor, you keyed the door open and dragged Dean over the threshold. You were a military dog in your soul and made certain you were always strong enough to carry your partner to safety, but after a while even you were getting tired. You realized Dean was conscious and mostly coherent when you unceremoniously tossed his drunk ass on the single queen bed. He shouted some truly awful attempt at seduction, before he grabbed at the hem of your shirt, trying to pull you to sit down next to him, and actually managing to rip the stitching near your collar as it stretched against your skin. From there he told you why he really called you. You specifically.

Apparently, he had gotten engaged to another woman. But now that she was ready to get married, she wanted him to retire from the army and settle down to have a family. He wasn't ready for that, and, suddenly consumed with understanding and guilt about what he'd done to you in the past, felt the need to meet you and make amends. To see if you wanted to try again with him. He'd needed a little liquid courage to actually call you, and he'd way over done it. You tried to feel some sympathy for the man you had once dedicated your life to, but you just couldn't. Not after the way he'd hurt you.

The best you could do was just make sure he was taken care of. So you placed the bathroom trash can next to the bed, fished your personal supply of aspirin from your purse, and left a few on the nightstand. You were nice enough to take the plastic cup and fill it with water for him before you decided you needed to get back home. The sun was starting to rise, and while Hank still couldn't be bothered to show up at work before ten, you still didn't want him to wake up without you there and start to worry. One last check to make sure Dean would be safe without you, and you shut the door behind you. It disturbed you how well his voice carried through the door and out into the parking lot, as you walked back to the curb you could clearly hear him shout "Please, baby. I _need_ you!" 

You just shook your head as you kept walking, and distracted as you were looking for your phone, you didn't notice the person in front of you until you had walked right into him. "Oh, shit. Sorry." You huffed out a laugh as you apologized, only for it to turn sour in your mouth as you looked up and realized exactly who you'd bumped into. Gavin. _Mother. Fucking._ Reed.

"Not yet." Reed laughed at your surprised face. "But you will be when everyone at the precinct hears about this." You wanted to punch that stupid look right off his face.

"Hears about what, Reed?" You tried to play this off, make it seem like you didn't care, and maybe he'd lose interest.

"Oh, I dunno..." The young man scratched his chest and pursed his lips as he spoke, "The fact that a fellow detective just caught you slinking outta' a pay-by-the-hour motel? An' by the sounds of it, seem to be chargin' by the hour yourself?"

_Fuck._ You hoped he hadn't heard that. It was all you could do to keep a disinterested facade, "What the hell are you even doing here, Reed?" You tried to deflect, but for once Reed was actually paying attention.

"Oh no. No, this aint about me. The phck were you doing in there, L/N?"

"Playing twister, Reed. Fuck off." You waved a dismissive hand and tried to brush past him.

The dark haired man managed to grab you by the elbow as you did, "Ah-ah. No, sweetcheeks. Not this time. I want answers."

"And the people in hell want ice water. You don't get to demand shit from me. Fuck off."

"I can demand whatever I want, with this blackmail..." He trailed off.

_"What."_ You weren't sure where he was going with this, seeing as you hadn't done anything wrong. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"Oh, just the fact that you're stumbling out of this shit-hole motel at dawn with a big-ass nasty purple hickey on your neck." Your eyes widened and you scrambled for your phone, turning on the front camera to confirm Reed's words. On the left side of your neck, right where you'd been hit with the lit cigarette, there was a small red welt, haloed by soft purplish bruising. You swallowed out of reflex and tried you get a hold of yourself as he kept speaking, "That and the fact that office gossip says you're spreading your legs for Anderson, and I'm certain that wasn't his voice begging for you to come back." Jesus, why did he have to pick now to act like a detective, "Tell me, is bouncing on that wrinkled old dick really worth whatever promotion he promised you? Or do you just enjoy getting railed by any cock that'll fuck you?"

"This isn't what it looks like." You tried to reason with your coworker, wincing at the pathetic defense, and ignoring the insults entirely, "I was helping out a friend who needed me." You really didn't have to explain yourself to him, but if he blew this out of proportion...

"Yeah, I could hear him screaming that." Reed chuckled, "And it might not be what it looks like... but good luck proving that when I tell the whole precinct what I saw." He paused in order to draw out the tension, "Unless, of course, you'd like to do a little something for me."

"I'm _not_ fucking you."

"Calm down, princess." You had to push down the urge to hit him, because Hank was the only one who could get away with calling you that and Reed knew how much it bothered you to hear it coming from _his_ mouth, "I'm sure I'll need a favor from you, some day down the line. I'll look you up then." He made that obnoxious clicking noise with his mouth, before spinning around to walk away without another word. Probably trying to be mysterious or some shit. For the first time in since meeting that jackass, you came away from an argument not only on the losing side, but utterly stumped as to how to fix it. 

You busied yourself with ordering another taxi, and as soon as it arrived, you slid in the front seat and pulled down the sun visor to flip open the backlit mirror installed inside it. You weren't much of a makeup kind of woman, prefering to save such efforts for truly special occasions, but you did have a few of the basics in your purse, and quickly dug through the random assortment of crap on top to find your small bottle of concealer. It was almost empty, and thanks to the fact that you were a makeup novice, it was also just a shade lighter than it probably should have been. But it was all you had and you needed to cover the bruising on your neck before work. Reed was right (as much as you hated to admit it), no matter how innocent it had all been, walking into work with what looked like a hickey clearly visible at the front of your neck was all it would take to start the rumor mill buzzing in a bad way. You pulled out an old makeup sponge and began a rather sad attempt at covering the quarter sized mark, sighing when you realized that even your best attempts would still leave it fairly visible. 

You resigned to having to style your hair over the tender bruising before you could go to work, and shook your head at yourself as you packed away the concealer and flipped the visor closed again. You frowned as you stepped out of the taxi, the pleasant breeze caressing your skin just caught the stink of cigarette smoke that still clung to your clothes and hair. Surprisingly it also carried just a hint of Dean's cologne from when he'd been pressed against your side as you were hauling him from bar to taxi and taxi to hotel room. You were going to have to take a shower before you went to work. It would wash away all your handy work with the makeup on your neck, but you had to get rid of the bar smell that still clung to you, and you could always beg Officer Chen for a hand with your little problem. Tina was a total beauty guru, and your only female friend in the department would be more than happy to have someone to work her magic on. 

Hank was going to piss himself laughing when you told him what happened. He'd probably make it a point to flick you in your bruise as much as possible to highlight the fact that it was all a bad idea. It was with that thought making you smile that you nearly jogged up to the front door, already making plans for the day in your head now that your mood was starting to improve. You still had another two hours before you and Connor would usually leave for work in a taxi, and Hank wouldn't be up and about for another three or four, taking his own car. That was just enough time for you to shower off the cigarette stink still clinging to your person, style your hair to cover your bruise (you decided to forgo any attempts at concealer until you could speak to Tina), and make Hank a nice breakfast before you had to go in. You could have asked Connor to do the cooking for you, but Hank had confessed to you privately that he prefered the way you improvised the little touches that made everything perfect.

But perfect was far from what you came home to. Opening the front door revealed a scene you hadn't been forced to endure since Connor came into your lives and saved Hank from himself.

Hank Anderson, the mess of a man, was half sprawled across the kitchen table, empty bottle of whisky loosely clenched in one hand. His head was pillowed on the bicep of his left arm where it was stretched across the table top. The digital picture cradled gently in his right hand had his full and undivided attention you realized, as the older man didn't even seem to register the sound of you coming in. Thankfully, his revolver was nowhere to be seen. You scanned the room, frowning as you noticed that Connor and was nowhere to be seen either. It was a simple matter to hang your coat and purse on the hook by the door before making quick strides into the kitchen. As your steps carried you closer, your gaze softened, trying to see if there was any way for you to pull him out of whatever had caused this. 

He'd been doing so good.

But you knew from personal experience that backsliding into that darkest part of depression was something that could happen at any time. So you slid to your knees as you reached him, one hand resting on his large bicep and rubbing gently as you spoke, "Hank? Hank, Sweetie? Did you have another nightmare?" They didn't happen often, but they were always about losing someone he loved, and they often plagued him well into his waking hours. That was the only time he drank hard liquor at home anymore, usually it was just a few beers while he watched tv.

He finally acknowledge your presence as you placed your other hand on his bare knee, rubbing gentle circles with your thumb. The older man raised his head, the frown on his face not shifting an inch as he finally looked away from the picture. You looked over as he set the frame down as gently as if he thought it would shatter otherwise. 

The picture, you're astonished to notice, isn't one of a young Cole. Instead it's one of you, Hank, and Connor. It had been taken not long after the revolution, at a very large gala event thrown by the DPD. Even though it had been a small fight to get Hank into a suit in the first place, you and Connor both had taken great care to make him look nice, trimming his hair a bit, and getting him to pull it back into a short ponytail. You had even gone so far as to make sure that their ties coordinated with the color of your dress. The way the three of you fit together so perfectly, made you smile every time you looked at it.

When you turned back, Hank was finally looking at you. Straight into your eyes. You could see he was deeply bothered by something, but he needed to tell you what it was before you could help him. You were about to ask him if he was alright again, but he beat you to the punch, "Back already?" He slurred slightly. The man was a hardcore drinker, and half a bottle of whiskey wasn't nearly enough to put him on his ass. "Thought you'd be gone for a while yet... Con... Connor wouldn't say were you went. Said you asked him not to..."

Jesus... two drunks before sunrise, and you had to deal with them both. You sighed, "And where is Connor?"

"Told 'im to head to work early. Didn't...didn't wan' 'im around." He glanced at the picture again before looking back down at you. There was no way he was making it into work today, hungover or not.


End file.
